


(may the sun kiss you) unconditional

by xumyuho



Series: we, fruitful as youth [2]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Anal Sex, Flowers, M/M, Oral Sex, Slow Dancing, implied exhibitionism, lmao - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 07:11:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9167740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xumyuho/pseuds/xumyuho
Summary: Mingyu doesn't need to be right, he just wants to win. Or, more specifically, he just wants Minghao to say "I lose."





	

**Author's Note:**

> ! UPDATE !   
>  A lovely soul translated this fic into Vietnamese here: https://wp.me/p4YmDG-mg  
> If you wish to read this fic in your native tongue, feel free to check it out and give them many thanks <3 
> 
> happy year of (20)seventeen  
> Ⱉ this is a self-indulgent, inconsistent mess of words and themes and feelings, working as a loose sequel to 'just need one night'.  
> Ⱉ its set around the spring holidays of 2016 when multiple members went to visit home. otherwise the timeline is just a Mess.  
> Ⱉ basically was supposed to be a hedonistic drabble but ended up being something much larger  
> Ⱉ un-beta'd, I had a chance (thank you B. and im sorry B.) but got impatient since this thing burned halfway through my hands  
> Ⱉ ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ ENJOY

“Telling you not to go would make me an idiot, right?”  
  
Minghao looks over his suitcase and stops folding the shirt in his hands. “... Right.” The way he agrees is so dry it stings a little. Mingyu sighs and lies down on the floor. He sighs again. “What? You’re going home too.”  
  
“I’m going to just visit, you’ll be gone for almost a week!” Mingyu argues and throws a pair of socks at him. Minghao catches them mid-air and stuffs them into the suitcase. “I’ll have to spend time alone here. Don’t you pity me?”  
  
Minghao snorts. “You won’t be alone. Wonwoo-hyung is here, Shua-hyung too.”  
  
“As I said, pity me.” His face is straight and joyless and makes Minghao laugh.  
  
“You’re awful.”  
  
“Takes one to know one Myungho.” He notices the pair of underwear in Minghao’s hands and sounds a slight _ah_. “Those are mine.” Minghao spares him a short look, but packs them anyway. It should annoy Mingyu, but somehow he just feels like smiling.  
  
“Just try to enjoy being home. Spend a lot of time around your dog,” Minghao encourages him while wiggling his heel to the music playing faintly from the other room.  
  
“I know,” Mingyu huffs. “But it’s not my home. It’s my family’s home."  
   
“Same thing, isn’t it?” Minghao shakes his head and keeps on packing. Mingyu makes a difficult, thoughtful face.  
  
“It’s not, though. We live here, not there.” He pokes at Minghao’s belongings with his extended toes, trying to scoop out clothes from the suitcase. Minghao clicks his tongue and raises his hand as a warning and Mingyu curls his legs to safety before it gets hit. “Dorm is our home.”  
  
Minghao makes a sound of refusal, his brows trying together at the middle of his forehead into a frown. “Dorm is dorm, home is home.”  
  
“If you live in the dorm, it’s your home.” Mingyu says slowly and Minghao hisses under his breath, slams his suitcase shut. He mimics the slow pronunciation of Mingyu’s mockery with a mean glare.  
  
“Where you _are_ isn’t your home, home is a place you go back to. It’s where you’re _from_.”  
  
Mingyu feels a slight burn inside his chest, his eyes stinging from pure annoyance and the corners of his mouth pulling downwards. “So this isn’t where you come back to?” Minghao looks odd, like he wants to bite off his tongue and never say anything again. Just gurgle something with blood spilling from his mouth, and still win every argument. “We’re just something you have to tolerate until you can go back?”  
  
“No.” His voice is puzzled. “I didn’t say that.”  
  
Mingyu knows, and feels small needles of regret picking away at his skin. A veil of thick, heavy silence falls on them and almost breaks their necks. “I know,” Mingyu finally admits, and Minghao takes a breath so deep it’s like he hasn’t tasted air in hours. “But isn’t it lonely think that way?” To think this place isn’t where you belong, but you spend most of your year at. To think you don’t belong.  
  
He gets no answer. Minghao just looks away, somewhere at the wall. His shoulders sag with a thin sigh. “I owe it to those that wait for me to come back.”  
  
He has too many things he thinks he owns to other people, Mingyu thinks.  
  
When Minghao heads to the airport, Mingyu helps him carry his bag down the stairs of their apartment complex. “Hey.” Mingyu looks left, right, then left again, and no one is there to see them. Minghao turns around, and Mingyu presses a light kiss to his lips in the stairway. It tastes sweet and risky, faintly of the danger of being seen, but Minghao doesn’t hit him for it.  
  
“Watch it,” Minghao murmurs and wipes his mouth afterwards. Mingyu grins and scrunches his nose, something easy-going floating around them in the air, though the weight of their argument still persist.  
  
“My friend said hi,” Mingyu tells his mother when he’s seated by the living-room table and staring absentmindedly at the television. The order of furniture has changed from the last time he was here, but it isn’t anything drastic. The furniture is still the same, the carpet is still the same, the spots in wallpaper and marks on chairs where Mara had used her sharp puppy-teeth and claws are all there.  
  
“Which one?” His mother asks, interested but not able to tear her eyes away from the show on TV. The drama she watches is old, and Mingyu swears it either does a re-run every year or has been ongoing ever since he was born.  
  
“...Myungho.” Mingyu feels sneaky saying his name out loud, an elephant's worth of weight landing on him from the guilt. Like he is committing a crime.  
  
Still, he imagines how it would feel to have Minghao sitting here next to him sometime, to eat homemade food and watch his mother’s favourite shows and share the misery of their boredom. When he pets Mara, he imagines how Minghao’s fingers would sink into the fur of her coat, carefully, because though he likes dogs he doesn’t trust animals. How Minghao would look at the pictures of Mingyu on the walls and tabletops and smile, in the way he does when he doesn’t realize he is smiling. If he would ignore Mingyu’s little sister or dig dirt and and bully Mingyu with her.  
  
It’s an experience he could never have at the dorm, and it makes him think. Not too long, not too hard, just a wandering thought, but it's enough.

 

Ⱉ

 

“Mingyu, did your mom ever tell you your eyes will go bad if you use them too much?”  
  
“No. My mom isn’t a liar.”  
  
“The clock will figure out you’re staring and go slower, you know.”  
  
Mingyu scoffs and closes his eyes for a long moment before opening them and blinking a hundred times in a fast pace. It feels like he’s creating a motion movie, one where Wonwoo looks at him like he has lost his mind but ends up quirking up his lips into a lopsided smile. The new dorm is empty and weird, hollow without the people that should be filling the spaces, and they’re both lying around the hallway. Mingyu is lying on his side, and stares at an alarm clock he brought with him.  
  
2:58 am.  
  
“When is he supposed to arrive?” Wonwoo asks, turning on his back and yawning. He’s doing this out of pure solidarity though he’s exhausted, he’s amazing like that. Mingyu feels a tug on his heart and it makes him reach out and try to hug Wonwoo, but the elder grunts and slides Mingyu further away with his leg.  
  
“At three.” Mingyu looks over and swears the handle jumps back when it’s about to pass the number twelve.  
  
“... Did you miss him?” Wonwoo’s face softens at the edges, and he quietly laughs when Mingyu doesn’t answer but instead sighs, deep and sorrowful. “So dramatic. Did he have a good trip?”  
  
Mingyu purses his lips, balls his hands into fists and relaxes them again. The skin on them is dry and feels tight, uncomfortable and coarse. He focuses on picking at his knuckles, averting his eyes. “I don’t know.”  
  
Wonwoo allows a long look at the ceiling, then lets his vision slip back at Mingyu. His hands creep up one finger at a time to pinch his ear.  “Did he spend a lot of time with his parents? Friends?” Mingyu swats his hand away and rolls down the hallway to get further away.  
  
“I said I don’t know.” He abruptly stops his roll like a tin can hitting a pebble. Limb by limb Mingyu gathers himself up so he’s sitting up. He tries not to pout, but he can’t do anything _but_ pout when he starts to speak, or goes through the words in his head before speaking. “He… doesn’t talk to me much. When he’s back home.”  He shrugs and looks at the clock. 3:02 am. “I don’t know what’s up with that but… he just doesn’t.”  
  
There are no sounds, no footsteps, no door opening. Wonwoo smiles slyly and hums with this annoying tone that gets him hit often. “Maybe he’s got something more interesting back home.” He doesn’t mean to say it like that, Mingyu knows, but it still makes him feel like he’s strained all over. _Bad._ Like a beginning of a difficult headache. His lungs feel hot and out of place inside his chest so he breathes and breathes and eventually heaves a bit, maybe to spit them out.  
  
Mingyu calms down eventually, stops huffing like a dragon with bad asthma, and carefully checks the clock on his phone. A notification rests on his lockscreen.  
  
_[3:08 AM] XMH: almost there.  
_  

 _[3:11 AM] You: WW is home, be cool._  
  
Mingyu’s fingers stumble and slip and feel clumsy while typing. A small smile climbs to his lips, and though he barely notices it, his muscles relax and he feels loose and easy. The front door opens and slams when it’s shut.  
  
“Welcome back,” Wonwoo sounds with a big smile, and Minghao is about to answer him but Mingyu runs down the hallway so fast his other sock falls off of his foot and hugs, or borderline body slams Minghao so violently his back hits the door. He’s all bundled up in a thick winter coat, so it softens the blow.  
  
Minghao’s breath comes out in a huge heave as all air is forced out of him. Then he starts laughing, giggling breathily as Mingyu tightens his grip around his back and lifts him up a bit. Minghao wiggles his feet a bit when his toes can’t reach the floor anymore and Mingyu presses his face into Minghao’s smooth winter coat.  
   
“Welcome back.” Mingyu’s voice is barely audible from where his mouth is pressed against a zipper, and he would cringe at it for sure. He sounds choked up, but refuses to admit he also feels choked up.   
  
“Christ that’s clingy.” Wonwoo tries to sound unimpressed, but Mingyu knows he’s weak for things like this. He’s a romantic. A sad sap. Minghao laughs again, this time embarrassed and grabs Mingyu’s shoulders and tells him to _“_ Let me go.”  
  
Wonwoo retreats to sleep and Minghao looks like he would wish to do so too, his face is droopy and tired. Still he drags himself to the darkness of Mingyu’s room and leaves his suitcase alone in the hallway, and Mingyu leans on a wall as Minghao sheds his coat, peels off his socks and shivers as the floor meets the naked soles of his feet, then finally takes a seat on Mingyu’s bed.  
  
He gets over to the bed and while setting down next to Minghao he presses his face against his neck, lying down on the bed and taking Minghao with him. Minghao doesn’t resist, just lets out a noise from the depth of his chest that doesn’t sound like any word or any sign, it’s just there, acknowledging Mingyu’s existence. Mingyu aligns his cheek against against his neck. The skin is cool.  
  
“I’m tired,” Minghao slurs out, and his accent sounds thicker than usual. It’s a bit like a warning sign, and makes Mingyu’s stomach turn. He closes his eyes and his eyelashes cast a shadow so Mingyu could probably count them, every single one.  
  
“I know.” His face looks soft, cheeks a bit red from the cold, and Mingyu presses his lips to the corner of Minghao’s eye. Their feet get tangled up as Mingyu repositions himself, and his hand reaches into Minghao’s hair.  
  
“Your hair grew,” Mingyu whines and Minghao grins with a small hint of teeth and a shy peal of laughter peeking from between his lips.  
  
“It did not, dumbass. I was gone for less than a week.” Mingyu wraps his arms around his torso and squeezes violently, and Minghao laughs again and kicks his feet against the bed. He turns to his side and his hands land at Mingyu’s cheeks, cradling them, squeezing a bit.  
  
“... Now that you mention it. Maybe a week was enough. You look older. Fatter, too, man check out these _wrinkles—”_ Mingyu shuts Minghao up with a kiss, making Minghao puff out air into his mouth because he was still speaking, but then their lips melt together. Even when Mingyu pulls back, Minghao keeps placing careful and slow kisses to his lips, arranging them with the utmost finesse. It makes Mingyu’s chest feel tight, too full. His hands bunch up Minghao’s sweater.  
  
“You smell weird,” He manages, eyeing the collar of Minghao’s shirt. There are no stains. On the contrary, the sweater is perfectly clean, ironed neatly as well. But it’s one Mingyu has never seen before. “It doesn’t smell like you.”  
  
“Really?” Minghao seems sated, dazed, like he had a good meal and is ready to sleep until noon, and after he sniffs his sleeve he cradles his head against a pillow. “It’s probably what my house smells like.” He notices Mingyu’s blank face, one that isn’t actually sour but borders on disgruntlement. “Does it smell bad?”  
  
Mingyu inches closer, their bodies align, ankles, knees, hips, chests, all positioned so they can be close. He breathes against Minghao’s neck, makes him shiver. “I didn’t say that.”  
  
Minghao hums out a sound, like he’s dubious. Mingyu breathes out heavily, hands trembling a bit from the tension of his words when he asks “Did you have a good time?” Minghao returns his lips to the skin of Mingyu’s neck, breathing against it and leaving kisses. His lips are a bit chapped and a patch of extra dry skin scratches against Mingyu.  
  
“Yeah,” he answers, fingers ghosting over the hem of Mingyu’s shirt and one leg throwing itself over Mingyu’s body sprawled out on the bed. He straddles Mingyu easily, like it’s his job. His lips cover Mingyu’s mouth in a slow, lazy kiss. After he’s done stealing the breath from Mingyu’s lungs, he starts snaking his hands under his shirt. “But I missed you.”  
  
He says it so sincerely with a soft curve of a smile on his lips, Mingyu can’t be fucked to do anything else but lift his ass so Minghao can pull his shirt off and pepper kisses and licks over the skin of his chest. “I thought you’re tired,” Mingyu breathes out.  
  
Minghao doesn’t waste time nuzzling his cheek into the hairs on Mingyu’s stomach that lead down to his pants. He works open the buttons and tugs the jeans down a bit alongside Mingyu’s boxers, just enough to pull Mingyu’s dick out. He smiles slyly, the intent gleaming in the darkness of the room. The light from a single desk lamp and the streetlights outside create a halo against his head.  
  
“ _Yes_. But like I said, I missed you.” He repeats himself. After a moment of thought Minghao then plants a grossly sweet and wet kiss to the side of Mingyu’s cock, eyes closing and eyelashes curling over his cheeks. It’s loving and tender and Mingyu is so embarrassed he could cry.  
  
“What the _fuck_ ,” Mingyu pleads and Minghao snickers. The feel of the smooch lingers, Mingyu will remember until he dies, which might be right now, so probably a bit longer. He will have it recorded inside his brain even in heaven.  
  
Mingyu isn’t sure when it happened exactly, or if it happened at all, but Minghao got really good at this. Giving head. Undeniably good. It’s a thought that pops up every time Minghao’s small mouth wraps around his head, gives tentative soft sucks and makes every piece of skin that isn’t on Mingyu’s dick feel dull and numb and not worth having. He pumps it all with his hand until Mingyu is hard, then smiles to himself as if it’s a small victory. He moans against Mingyu’s pulse, looks up through his eyelashes, noiselessly demands a reaction at his glossy eyes and disheveled appearance. Redness on his cheeks and lips, bangs all messed up. Minghao knows he looks hot. He just knows what to do and even seems to enjoy it a lot most of the time, which makes it all the more hot.  
  
He still can’t fit much into his mouth, which Mingyu is mostly thankful for, since it creates a delicious delusion about his dick being big enough to gag on. In reality Minghao just has a small mouth and a terrible gag reflex that even a toothpick could trigger. Not that Mingyu’s dick is the size of a toothpick, which is not the point.  
  
It feels freeing to not worry about his sounds, how he doesn’t need to doubt if every hitch in his breath will be audible to the other room. Mingyu breathes out a deep moan and digs his heels into the mattress, thinking Wonwoo will suffer if he must. It’s his fault for having ears, and in the end Mingyu can blame it on Minghao’s mouth too, his tongue digging into all the right places and jaw loosening so kindly it feels like love. Mingyu rests a hand in his hair and guides his pace with a focused frown, dick twitching and spurting precum onto Minghao’s tongue. It drips down his jaw, mixed with saliva.  
  
Minghao drags his mouth up, and a string of precum and spit hangs between his lips and Mingyu’s cock. It’s so devastatingly hot Mingyu’s toes curl. “Did you miss me?” Minghao asks quietly in a worn and husky voice, then licks his lips. Mingyu lets out a soft noise and nods a tad too enthusiastically. Minghao accepts the answer with a small, dazed smile. “Good.”  
  
He makes Mingyu squirm and choke on a moan, fist his hair, and barely even holds down Mingyu’s hips and allows him to fuck up into his mouth. When he stops to breathe, sound of it all raspy and wet, he laughs at Mingyu’s twisted face. “That’s not sexy at all,” he cackles. Mingyu can’t do anything about his face and it just twists further in plain desperation. Minghao’s eyes become soft, wet, warm, and he crawls up to cradle Mingyu’s cheek.  
  
He presses a kiss to Mingyu’s lips that tastes like the salt of a body, and whispers a helpless “I love you” that makes Mingyu feel like he might die.  
  
Mingyu comes not soon after, whimpering those words right back at him. He swears Minghao catches them from the air, he levels a look at Mingyu’s heaving, quivering chest and cleans him up with such sure hands it feels like he could live for a hundred years on those three words alone. And that he knows Mingyu will keep on feeding him.  
  
At first Mingyu didn’t like it, his smug faces, how he never hesitated to rub it in if he was a step further than Mingyu was. But now it feels safe, like Mingyu always has something to lean on. He doesn’t need to lead.  
  
Minghao stays in his bed after. They press so close together that it’s a bit suffocating, but the bed is made for a single person and there’s no room to spare for a breathing space. Mingyu looks at the sweater Minghao is still wearing with something similar to hostility, the strange scent from it still haunting his nose. He can only pray the smell of him from sheets will stick to the creamy wool and get rid of it, so he does, and falls asleep while Minghao breathes by his ear.  
  
The time is closer to six when Mingyu feels Minghao slide out of his bed. He reaches out and his fingertips grab onto the fabric of Minghao’s underwear, a sleepy grumble rolling out of his throat.  
  
“No.”  
  
Minghao turns to look and raises his brows. Mingyu must look amusing in the soft morning light to make Minghao smile like that, bright and sweet. Beautiful. Mingyu has missed him so much his chest can barely contain it all. “No what?”  
  
“Stay.” Mingyu’s demand is more like a whine, and doesn’t change Minghao’s mind. He yanks himself free from Mingyu’s grasp and toes his way to the door and ignores Mingyu’s pout.  
 

“Some other time. More people are coming home soon, I shouldn’t be here then.” Mingyu stretches out a long, deep sound of dissatisfaction, and his eyesight turns fuzzy. He can’t see Minghao anymore when he says, “Just sleep.”  
  
Mingyu’s brain is too asleep to gather up a sentence before Minghao has already exited the room, and he falls asleep listening to Minghao’s footsteps in the cold, empty hallway.

 

Ⱉ

 

Mingyu has a dream about their old dorm, with him and Minghao snugly seated by a table and conversing. It’s one of those dreams where you look up and notice a complete conversation has already taken place before your sentient being fell into the midst of the setting, and you’re responsible for the rest. An unfair thing to do.  

  
“You don’t like it when I go, don’t you?” Minghao asks him, sitting on the floor and picking up strands of grass that grows out from between the floorboards. The old dorm is the old dorm, even if, yes, it is lacking a wall, and the gaping hole leads out to a field of wildflowers in the middle of Gangnam. It’s escapism turning a trick to keep Mingyu’s sanity in check  
 

“I hate it.” Mingyu says.

   
“Why?”

   
“Your idea of home is all fucked up.”

   
“Why?”

   
“It’s different from mine.”

   
“Why?”

   
“I thought your home was with me.”

   
“Why did you decide that by yourself?” Minghao asks, but his voice is all wrong. It’s lifeless and scary, and paints the sky black until they are just floating in everlasting darkness. Mingyu wants to tell him to stop, but suddenly he doesn’t have words anymore. His dream is too light to deliver them. He’s so afraid tears gather at his line of vision, and he dives into the air and starts breast-stroking to the skies.

   
Back in reality, Jeonghan slams the door of their room open so hard Mingyu flies up three meters from his bed before he hits the floor. Like the nightmare never ends, he thinks. His heartbeat evens out only once he crawls back into his bed and pulls the covers over his head.

   
“Welcome home, hyung,” Mingyu says weakly and peeks out from under the covers. Jeonghan smiles and ruffles his hair.  
  
“You’re all sweaty.” He presses a palm against Mingyu’s cheek. “Do you feel sick?” Mingyu shakes his head.  
  
“Just a nightmare.” Jeonghan coos and fusses by throwing a blanket over Mingyu’s comforter.  
  
“Sleep a bit more then.”  
  
He doesn’t have to be told twice.  
  
When he wakes up for breakfast, his shirt still feels a bit damp so he changes it hastily before the hyungs come drag him out of bed by force. Walking is awkward, the pain and discomfort of falling from the skies to his bedroom floor still lingering, but it goes away eventually. He eats normally, is sleepy and a bit grouchy just like every day. Nobody would know that he’s having dreams and heartache about the guy sitting on the opposite side of the table.  
  
Mingyu stares at Minghao through his exhaustion, and Minghao too looks tired and like he was restless the whole night. Again.  
  
Minghao talks in his sleep, and occasionally tries to walk out of the dorm. He could hold conversations in his sleep for hours on end. He talks softly, or almost shouts, uses different languages and blabbers nonsense until someone wakes him up, which in the end makes him feel like he has barely slept for more than two hours. Mingyu kind of felt bad for him at first, long ago, but now he can’t shake off the subtle afterthought of _‘stop appearing in my dreams and try to catch some of your own, jackass’._ _  
_  
Still. All annoyance just seeps right out of him and disappears between the cracks on the flooring when Soonyoung wraps an arm around Minghao’s shoulders and mumbles some tired nonsense right into his ear, and Minghao laughs. It’s bubbly but obnoxious in a way, light and bright and loud. Somehow it doesn’t suit him at all, but then again nothing else ever would suit him better. Mingyu’s hands and joints feel weightless and he doesn’t feel like eating anymore, because he’s filled with something else.  
  
He doesn’t mind how Minghao’s hair is up and spiky on the other side and flat on the other, he doesn’t mind how crumbs of breakfast get stuck in the beginnings of stubble down his chin. Because Minghao looks him over, and he doesn’t mind that Mingyu looks a bit sickly, or that his hair is grossly sticky and shineless from the dried up sweat. He smiles very very subtly at how Mingyu wipes his nose on his sleeve, how he downs a glass of water in a single gulp and stifles a burp.  
  
And that’s why it’s hard to understand what Minghao is thinking, why he thinks in a way that is so different from Mingyu. It kills him, the unknowing burrows deep holes into him, makes a nest out of his body.  
  
“Seokmin,” Mingyu speaks after clearing his throat. Seokmin doesn’t lift his eyes from an interesting stain on the table, his left eye more asleep and the right one, but both just as unconscious, not reacting even when Jihoon snaps his fingers in front of his face. His talent to sleep with his eyes open is creepy as fuck, though hilarious at times.  
  
“He’s drooling.” Jihoon laughs so loudly the plates almost fly across the room. Almost.  
  
“Then Jihoonie-hyung.” Mingyu redirects his words and licks his dried up lips. Minghao ignores them to keep eating, remaining unresponsive when Mingyu side eyes him. “What do you think is the definition of home?”  
  
Jihoon raises his brows so they disappear behind his bangs. Minghao fumbles with his spoon and almost drops it, making a face of _why the hell did you bring this up, maggot._ But Mingyu ignores him.  
  
“Why?” Jihoon asks and Jeonghan chews with intrigue plastered all over his face next to him. “It’s not even noon and you’re already thinking such difficult things.” He shoots an accusing look to Wonwoo who returns it with complete confusion and innocence.  
  
Jeonghan swallows and licks over his teeth before he asks, “Did you and Myungho fight about it?” It makes shivers run down Mingyu’s spine, though he shouldn’t be surprised. Minghao is miserable because Jeonghan has always been able to read him like a book, but he doesn’t really get it, not in the way Mingyu does. He sees Jeonghan work his magic every day, and can’t say he isn’t jealous of it.  
  
Mingyu nods. Jeonghan smiles so his mouth curls softly and amusement gleams in the corners of his eyes. “So you want us to say who’s right and who’s wrong?”  
  
“No,” Minghao cuts in.

  
“Yes,” Mingyu says over him with a grin.

  
“Cool,” Jihoon drags out monotonically. “What was your idea of home?” Jihoon asks Minghao and leans against the table lazily.  
  
He thinks for a second before answering. “Home is where you’re from and where you can return,” Minghao says, slowly but surely, and Jihoon nods along like he would agree if he cared that much.  
  
“And you?” Mingyu meets his questioning look, but doesn’t feel discouraged.  
  
“Home is where you live.”  
  
Jihoon and Jeonghan both stay silent, before finally looking at each other. Mingyu doesn’t look away even once, waiting for their reply. Jeonghan breaks the silence after a pause. “I’ve... never thought about it, actually.” He shrugs and smiles like the sleazy liar he is. “How should we know?”    
  
“Home. Definition.” Wonwoo speaks out with his phone in his hand, adopting a serious and formal tone when he reads off of a dictionary online. “Definition: one’s place of residence.” Mingyu shoots up and does a little dance, joy sparking and soaring through him. Minghao looks at him sourly, the sourness turning into embarrassment, and the embarrassment into clean hate.  
  
“Sit the fuck down kid I’m not done,” Wonwoo nags with a frown. Mingyu freezes in place and Minghao has never looked as happy.  
  
“...What?”  
  
“Definition,” Wonwoo continues. “A place of origin. And like, five other things.”  
  
“We are both right?” Minghao asks, and Wonwoo nods.  
  
“If we trust a dictionary.” Mingyu whines and falls back into his chair. They sail through a pause, then another. Wonwoo drinks his water and grimaces a bit afterwards. “My aunt says the home of a fool is where he leaves his heart. So. Watch it.”  
  
Minghao and Mingyu scoff simultaneously and slump deeper into their seats, glaring over the table. Mingyu’s ankle rubs against Minghao’s, prods and pushes, and Minghao kicks him for it. Jihoon thinks on it, then suggests, “You could always fight it out. Bare fists, no weapons, the one who’s left standing has the right answer.” Wonwoo snorts and Jeonghan hisses at him.  
  
“It’s a thing that has too many meanings,” Jeonghan concludes. “It doesn’t mean if it’s there or here, just don’t fight about it anymore. Especially with fists. You don’t have time for that.”  
  
Mingyu finds Minghao staring at him over the table, stifled annoyance and swallowed words intense in the atmosphere. They both speak through gritted teeth when they reply, “Yes hyung.”

 

 

Ⱉ

 

 

As much as there just isn’t enough time or privacy for a fist fight, there is plenty for a never ending nightmare of endless torment Mingyu is more than happy to unleash upon Minghao in different ways. He knows enough spots to jab at, mostly below Minghao’s hypothetical and actual belt, and it’s a simple plan. Mingyu just needs to be the biggest pain in the entire universe and bug Minghao until he slips up.

Mingyu isn’t childish though, of course not. He already heard the dictionary and won’t argue it, he doesn’t need to be right. Mingyu just wants to win. Or, more specifically, he wants Minghao to say “I lose.”  
  
Minghao’s bed is freshly made with clean sheets that still smell like laundry. He has a thing about cleanliness that shows in moments like this, there is a bed to his right, completely vacant and soft and clean, but he sits on the floor by it, ankles crossed, his laptop whirring away and forehead working a frown line into permanence.  
  
A laundry basket filled with clean clothes rests by the door, and as soon as Minghao notices his presence in the room, Mingyu peels off his dirty socks and drops them on top of all the pristine, cotton-scented shirts. Minghao stares at the socks, like they might grow feet in fear and run for the hills.  
  
Mingyu settles down to the edge of the cleanly made bed, cocking his head to the side and resting his chin on Minghao’s shoulder. Minghao glares at the place where Mingyu’s ass meets the covers, where his hand presses into Minghao’s pillow. His eyebrows twitch, lip moving as he chews on the inside of it. He takes a deep breath, and speaks after a long, painful silence. “What’s up?”  
  
“Nothing much, honey.”  
  
It’s a very powerful feeling to witness every single muscle, vein and brain cell of a man freeze into place in a state of shock. Mingyu smiles, small and demure so his lips curl softly and his eyes stay wide and happy. Minghao slowly turns to look at him, mouth opening, then closing.  
  
“Honey.” Mingyu says it again, like a statement.  
  
“Stop before I hurt you.” Up close like this it’s easy to hear the terror in Minghao’s voice.  

“Honey?” Mingyu grins and Minghao decides to ignore him, directing his attention to the laptop. “No, honey, don’t _ignore_ me,” Mingyu whines and clings to Minghao’s arm. “You don’t like it?”

“I don’t.” Minghao states in a near shreak. “It’s fucking creepy.” Mingyu gently pushes the laptop away from his hands and settles on Minghao’s lap instead.

“People in relationships call each other honey.” Mingyu didn’t know he would like this as much as he does, his pride hurting only slightly. On the scale of  papercuts to lethal third degree burns, it’s just about a traumatic amputation of a thumb.

Minghao’s face is so hateful, yet his hands find their usual spot on Mingyu’s hips. “We can’t be involved if we don’t give each other edible code names?”

Mingyu topples over with laughter and bubbles his giggles into Minghao’s shoulder. “No. How do you feel about sweetpea?” 

Minghao scoffs, then forces his voice deeper and says, “ _Sugar_ .” His hands get lost under Mingyu’s shirt and Mingyu doesn’t stop him. Not even when his shirt comes off, not even when Minghao’s is removed too after Mingyu comes up with “Pumpkin?”

Minghao pulls him down for a kiss, because they are alone and they can, and Mingyu closes his eyes because he is allowed. Minghao also gets handsy because he can, hand coming up to lay light touches across Mingyu’s chest, with just the tips of his fingers making Mingyu feel too sensitive and too breathless.  
  
“Sugarplum,” Minghao then says and flicks Mingyu’s nipple.

 _"Oh my god.”_ It’s a reaction to both, the fact that he is painfully aroused and that the pet name exists out there in the real world, in its wholehearted slimy horror. Different sugary foods run through Mingyu’s mind as Minghao sneakily lands a kiss on the skin of his neck, keeps pressing the pad of his finger against Mingyu’s nipple with easy ownership.

Only when Mingyu reaches to open Minghao’s fly and feels a wave of relief thrum through himself at the sight of Minghao’s eyes fluttering shut, he realizes how sneaky his enemy is. Minghao’s defenses cannot go down, because he has none, and Mingyu’s plans go down the drain, shouting from joy. He teases and jacks Minghao into full hardness, licks and bites his ear, pulls on the weird dangly earring he is wearing, until Minghao chokes on a whimper.

As Mingyu lies down on his back on the bed and Minghao pulls of his pants, a condom and sachets of lube between his teeth, his face twists in laughter like he just came up with the best joke on earth. “What?” Mingyu demands as Minghao opens the package and drips lubricant to his fingers. “You got one more?”  
  
Minghao makes his voice a bit high pitched, a bit breathy, a bit Lee Seokmin. Then he delivers the blow with “ _Oh my chocolate_ \--” and Mingyu loses his fucking _mind_. Minghao can’t push a single fingertip in because Mingyu’s laughing fit is so violent, his eyes get blinded with tears and it’s even worse because he is lying on his back. Minghao shoves at him and tries to slam a hand on Mingyu’s mouth to stop him from squealing like a baby pig.

Once his laughter dies down to tiny puffs and bursts of air and sound, Minghao smooths his thigh and plants a kiss on top of Mingyu’s knee. His smile is satisfied and proud and Mingyu doesn’t hate it at all. “You done?” Minghao asks and Mingyu nods through his heavy breathing, fingers feeling the sheets under him as Minghao finally starts to lube him up with his freakishly long and bony fingers he is so proud of.

The habitual discomfort isn’t there. Mingyu’s every muscle feels easy, lazy and relaxed, nothing hurts, and the tiny whines that sound from his throat are only a response to the sensation of Minghao’s touch inside him.

It’s hard to stop his toes from curling, it’s tough to not make a wistful face with his mouth falling open, and no matter what he tries, he still ends up blushing when Minghao stares him down, then levels his gaze and never misses a thing Mingyu does.

Minghao’s other hand stays on Mingyu’s dick, and keeps stroking through every burn and every possible stretch, teasing the underside and slit, every spot of skin that makes him squirm. He keeps on adding lube until Mingyu says “It’s okay,” with a sweet smile. Minghao keeps on singing the song under his breath, a dumb smile plastered on his dumb face. 

“ _I like that you’re not common…”_ _  
_  
_“Wanna make something out of us?”_ Mingyu picks up where he left off, spreading his legs and allowing Minghao to push them up and fold his thighs against his chest. Minghao’s face goes thoughtlessly slack for a fat second, admiring the position, and Mingyu feels pride nestling inside his chest.

 _“Wanna feel it?”_ Minghao mumbles against Mingyu’s lips when he leans in for a kiss. He opens the condom with nimble fingers, and Mingyu loves to think Minghao’s only better at it than him because Minghao has had more practice. 

 _“Wanna choose me?”_ Mingyu sings softly, and Minghao settles between his legs. A tremble of anticipation travels through Mingyu’s skin and he heaves out a heavy breath.

 _"Wanna control me?”_ Minghao aligns himself and his face drops, like he just remembered what the next line of lyrics is. Mingyu grins like he is wicked.  
  
“ _Here, take the joysti-_ ” Mingyu’s punchline gets interrupted by Minghao’s dick pushing in out of spite, by the sudden pant that escapes Mingyu’s mouth. The word ‘joystick’ floats orphaned around the room, and Mingyu lets it. He doesn’t need the dick-joke anyway.    
  
Minghao smiles widely but can’t speak at first, his voice too dry and too aroused to form any good, proper words. “Don’t go there,” he finally manages to say, every word shaking like a frail newborn.  
  
“I already did.” Mingyu gets a slow, agonizing buck of Minghao’s hips for his troubles. One of his hands grabs onto the sheets, and one slips to the back of Minghao’s neck. He feels crammed and tight, nearly folded into two by the position, but he loves it like this. Minghao’s hands hold Mingyu by the backs of his thighs, bending him just like Minghao himself wants, and he builds up a rhythm, just as fast as he likes to go.

It’s a bit silly how Minghao makes the exact same face no matter if he fucks or gets fucked. His nails dig into Mingyu’s skin and his pace becomes unforgiving, rough, he stretches out a deep moan for several seconds before finally opening his eyes and staring Mingyu down through his bangs. He readjusts his ankles when his thighs tire out, and slows down.  
  
Mingyu brushes his hair back and whimpers, his cock twitching and gaze flying to the door of the room every so often. The tension of an unlocked door creates an edge that could be deemed…weird, but they never speak of it. It makes both of their hearts beat faster and both of them harder, but it’s _not_ a kink if neither of them mention it.

No one comes through, every hall rests silent. Minghao sounds a choked cry and picks up the speed anyway. He pants against Mingyu’s teeth when they kiss, swallows the cries, whines and whimpers that try to leap from Mingyu’s lips. He is considerate like that.

Minghao’s hand returns to his abandoned cock, palm pressing against the tip and smearing, teasing, rolling his wrist until Mingyu cannot shut up, voice climbing higher and higher in pitch, until he comes like that. Restless and loud, face twisting in a plea that Minghao answers by slowing down, but the calm pace makes Mingyu tremble like he’s going through aftershocks.  
  
“Did you try to bully me into admitting defeat through your bullshit?” Minghao asks softly. He pumps Mingyu dry until he can’t stand the touch anymore and swats Minghao’s hand away, panting and blinking away water from his eyes.  
  
“Did you purposefully derail me with sex?” Mingyu asks in return. He tenses up around Minghao, just slightly, and the tightness sends him off the edge, hips stuttering and a low mewl climbing up his throat. He lets go of Mingyu’s legs and rests his sweaty forehead on Mingyu’s chest, breathing in soft puffs and tiny noises.

“Of course,” he replies with a breathy laugh, and Mingyu considers it a well deserved tie.

 

Ⱉ

 

 

Their holiday runs out, and it’s time to work again. It’s a well-needed change of pace, after a long day of work it’s difficult to pay mind to anything but sleeping and eating.

Still, though they don’t fight or interact much during the days, Mingyu feels a pull and chases it where he knows it’ll end. In the dead of the night Mingyu sneaks out and walks to the dance studio practice space, while the rest of the building stands asleep and calm. He feels really awake, and he knows Minghao is too, with his bunk empty and the door of the building unlocked.

It’s Minghao’s habit, now that he is bold enough to do so. When he can’t sleep he pulls on clothes and sneaks out to come here, enter it with keys he has “forgotten” to return for months while everyone else is asleep. Sometimes he actually dances, and sometimes he just lies on the floor and stares at the ceiling, or he takes Mingyu with him and they play card games or make out.

Tonight he didn’t invite company. It’s a night that is turning into a morning, slivers of pink intertwining with the night sky, sun pressing kindness onto the surface of darkness. Looking at it while walking makes Mingyu happy, though it’s cold even inside his jacket and beanie, his scarf barely keeps his pulse warm and his pockets are too shallow to fit hit shivering hands.

Minghao plays music that rings faintly from the sound system, and the way he dances isn’t practice at all. Mingyu shuts the door quietly enough so Minghao can’t hear him, and his relaxed face goes undisturbed, eyes closed all the way and mouth parted. He breathes out tiny puffs, and Mingyu gulps a big mouthful of air for him to make himself feel better.

The music is odd and doesn’t suit the room, but it does go with the tentative steps Minghao seems to be pulling from the depths of his brain. He lands his feet on the floor, bends his knees in the rhythm of the strings, brass, flutes, the classical music spikes and he leaps a bit, comes down, his arms extend and swim through the air. It’s clumsy, and it’s very uncharacteristic, and Mingyu doesn’t know much about these things, but it’s ballet. A person who doesn’t know ballet _trying_ seriously to do ballet.

The song ends and Minghao breathes out a small delighted laugh. He’s lost, face a bit disappointed, but when he opens his eyes and they land on Mingyu, it’s like he finds his footing once again. A glimmer shines in his eyes and Mingyu smiles at him, then remembers he’s supposed to be upset. Not angry, but at least miffed or something. Because nothing has been resolved. No one has won yet.

“Hey,” Minghao greets him and sways on his heels.

“Hey yourself,” Mingyu says and tosses his coat on the floor next to Minghao’s. “What’re you listening to?”

Minghao looks at the sound system connected to his phone and his face turns a bit shy. He sucks in his lower lip, then lets it go and answers, “Tchaikovsky.”

“Bless you.” Mingyu grins at how Minghao glares at him.

“It’s a name.”

“Ahh,” Mingyu sounds, like he doesn’t know what Minghao means. Well, he doesn’t know whose name it is or where it’s from, so it’s only a quarter of a lie. It’s beautiful and graceful. The sounds are grand and filled with emotion, as if one of the instruments was a singer that told about heartache in a language Mingyu can’t understand. Minghao hums to the music and gets seated by a flimsy book, spread open on the floor. He waves a hand, invites Mingyu over, and Mingyu comes.

“What’s this?” Mingyu questions out loud and folds his feet neatly under himself.

It looks like a yearbook, or an album slash scrapbook. There are pictures of young boys in tights, young girls in tights, and Minghao. He’s two heads shorter than anyone, so much younger and so much messier surrounded by the ballet dancers. He’s smiling wide, mouth a bit crooked in a way that makes him seem rough around the edges. He is really cute, in the ugly childish way.

Mingyu makes a face. “You… did ballet?”

Minghao laughs and shakes his head, shoulder bumping Mingyu’s. “ _Fuck_ no. But I knew people who did back in Beijing. They made me watch.”

Minghao flips a page, and there’s a row of kids striking a strong pose of martial arts. “Beijing?” Mingyu asks. Minghao nods enthusiastically and allows his head to sway in the flutter of the music.

“I went to school there before coming here.” Mingyu steals a glance at how he stares in the distance, how memories fly by in Minghao’s eyes. “I didn’t know anyone and had to live by myself. The dorm life was so different there than here.”

The loneliness is sweet when Minghao speaks of it, though still makes Mingyu wish he could erase it completely. Make it so it never happened. The harps on the speaker sound hauntingly familiar, and Mingyu listens closely. “I know this one,” he exclaims with raised brows and wide eyes. “It’s in that Christmas commercial!” Minghao doesn’t look impressed.

“ _Everyone_ knows ‘Waltz of the flowers’.”

“No, everyone knows the commercial, but everyone doesn't know the song.” Mingyu scoffs with a hostile raise of his upper lip. Minghao rolls his eyes and climbs back to his feet. He pads over while feeling the rhythm of the piece, then extends his hands for Mingyu to take.

“Up.” Mingyu grabs his palms immediately, fingers finding their usual spots on Minghao’s skin, the imaginary dips they have left there, his hands worn with use. Minghao pulls him up, and looks up at him, an excited small smile pulling at his lips.

“We should dance.”

Mingyu blinks. “No,” he says immediately. “No way.”

“Why?” Minghao whines and puckers his bottom lip out. He thickens his accent in an attempt to make “It’ll be fun” sound cute, but the atrocity grosses Mingyu out so much he wants to punch Minghao in the jaw.

Mingyu lets go of his hands and steps back, rolling with the punches of Minghao’s disappointment. “We agreed on no slow-dancing or flowers.”

Minghao doesn’t allow his hands to escape, his hold latching onto Mingyu’s forearms gently. “Well, technically it’s a waltz, not a slow-dance.” Mingyu stares at how Minghao’s thumbs caress the skin of his wrist. “Please?” Minghao pleads. 

“What’s your damage?” Mingyu breathes out with half-assed frustration while Minghao’s thumbs draw circles and jigsaws on top of his pulse. He doesn’t get an answer. Minghao wraps an arm around his waist, holds his hand tightly and starts swaying from side to side.

“I want to try it. Romance.” Minghao says it with such clear shameless eyes, he even rolls the R of the English word for several seconds. It makes Mingyu smile in embarrassment and push him away, but Minghao sneaks right back again, then leans even closer. The tips of their noses touch as Minghao gets up on his tiptoes and stares into Mingyu’s eyes with a clear challenge.

“Do you admit defeat, Kim Mingyu?”

Air becomes heavy and hard to breathe now that every mouthful has Minghao’s scent mingled into it. “Fine,” Mingyu grits out through his teeth. “Romance. What the hell ever. Let’s do it.” Minghao smiles with clear, obnoxious satisfaction and changes the music for them.

“I’m not exactly a master at this,” Minghao says and steps closer as the first tender, stretched out beats of the waltz echo in the room. “But I know more than you do, so I’ll take the lead.”

“Who usually has the lead, the guy or the girl?” Mingyu asks after Minghao shows him the steps. He’s answered with _this look_ , like Minghao thinks Mingyu is the Moron Prince of Hell but can’t say it out loud.

“Typically the guy.” Minghao rolls his eyes violently as soon as Mingyu whines.

“I’m the girl?”

“No, Mingyu-ya, you’re a guy.” Minghao’s words are just an exasperated sigh. “But I’m the guy who knows how to dance and you’re the guy who can’t. So pipe down.”

They start slowly, barely keeping up with the pace the song demands because of Mingyu’s fumbling. Every time Minghao steps forward Mingyu forgets to move his feet back. It takes too much concentration and willpower to make their coordination smooth, so when Mingyu finally gets it he’s exhausted but proud.

He concentrates with a deep scowl and looks down at their feet, tongue peeking out, making Minghao giggle in that deep way only he can. Their hands hold on tight to each other as Minghao starts moving them further away from the place they started, their steps become wider, and they start going around in circles.

It becomes easier. Mingyu starts to find familiarity in the song, in the atmosphere, and the steps come to him more or less naturally. “You’re so good at this,” Minghao whispers, and Mingyu’s cheeks feel warm.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Really,” Minghao insists with a grin.

“Thanks,” Mingyu finally whispers back.

He starts to feel dizzy, especially once he lifts his eyes and Minghao’s face is there waiting for him. They lock eyes and Mingyu wants to push Minghao away again to clear the burning heat from his face, to get fresh air near is face, but Minghao doesn’t allow it. He laughs shortly, eyes hiding behind the high roundness of his cheeks, and they keep dancing.

“I’m,” Mingyu starts, but forgets to continue because Minghao stares at his lips. “I’m feeling weird.”

Minghao doesn’t ask why he’s whispering, but whispers right back. “Lightheaded?” Mingyu nods. “Don’t get dizzy.” It’s easier said than done.

Mingyu forgets to breathe now and then, the song keeps going for what feels like hours. Minghao looks sharp and vivid against the spinning background of the practice room, and Mingyu can see his mouth moving but doesn’t hear the words. The shade of red on his lips is too distracting.

“What?” Mingyu asks once he remembers Minghao did say something.

“I’m going to spin you.” Mingyu’s mind zeroes down to a dull halt, like a pulse flatlining. Of course he doesn’t get more of a warning than that, before Minghao’s hands land on his hips, gently and but surely. His palms are big, and press a good grip. The music dips into an endless spiral, and Mingyu bends his knees.

With the force of his own feet he rises from the floor, and keeps going, and going. Mingyu tenses up when he’s in the air, his whole figure resting on the strength of Minghao’s extended skinny, twiggy fucking arms. They are much stronger than they look, but they still look like they could snap, so Mingyu’s fear is completely justified.

Mingyu grabs onto them for his dear life as Minghao holds him up and does a small spin around, and Mingyu can’t breathe for that split second. His whole body feels light, like it’s filled with feathers that tickle his sternum and make shivers run around his skin, but his heart beats hard and heavy and fast enough to kill, and if Minghao wasn’t holding onto him so tight Mingyu thinks he could float away to space.

From up here it’s like he’s a new person and Minghao is too, his skin pulls and feels cold, then shivers back to warmth, unbearable heat and to a dull ache. His fingers press their prints into bruises on Minghao’s skin, eyes gathering the moisture of Mingyu’s excitement and a rush of other terrible emotions.

When Mingyu comes down it isn’t as graceful as his flight. He stumbles and loses the count of his steps and falls on one knee, completely spellbound and out of breath.  Minghao looks down at him, panting. His hands cradle each of Mingyu’s cheeks, pads of his thumbs digging into the hot surface of them. His hands are shaking.

Minghao smiles, endeared, and tells him, “You looked like a princess.”

It’s such a Minghao thing to say. First rays of sunshine shine through the windows.

“How was it?” Minghao asks through his heavy breathing. Mingyu chuckles breathily, every bit of laughter flying out of his open mouth with a puff of air.

“Exhausting. Terrifying.”

“I’m sure there are a bunch of old people out there appreciating that you think ballroom dancing is that hardcore.” Mingyu smacks him lightly on the forehead just for still managing to  sound so dry even when they both are spent, making Minghao gush out an _ow_ and touch his forehead as if to soothe it.

Minghao keeps on worrying the skin on his face, thinking, mind running absent and free. Mingyu takes his hand and just holds it.

There’s a pause, and then another. They keep evening their breathing but neither shatters the silence. Minghao gets tired of it first, just like he always does, and scoots over, leans closer to seal it away with a kiss to Mingyu’s lips.

It’s a quiet and light kiss that barely makes a sound when Minghao pulls away in a second.

“Are you lonely now?” Mingyu asks and stares holes into the floor. Minghao, whose face is only inches away, pulls back and looks at him with concern. “Like in Beijing. Are you lonely here too?”

Minghao opens his mouth, then closes it. He looks like he’s in deep pain, somewhere deep behind his gut. Mingyu doesn’t like it, though he wants to. He wishes he could feel good about making Minghao feel how he feels.

“I’m not.” There’s a strain and a tremble in his voice, it’s no louder than a whisper. “I… I thought I would be. But I’m not.”

“Really?” Minghao nods and Mingyu’s chest loses an elephant’s worth of weight. Mingyu opens his mouth to say something but Minghao points his finger as a clear sign to shut up, because he is talking, so Mingyu sucks in his cheeks and swallows every word with wide eyes.

“I was lonely because I was guilty. I left my family and I did what I wanted and they allowed me to do it… but for some reason I don’t feel guilty anymore. And I…” He licks his lips and rubs at a spot above his ear. “I feel awkward there now. Here I feel free.”

Mingyu has lost the point, he has lost any point of anything, the point of their fight or why they are even here. He holds Minghao’s hand, thumb swiping over every big knuckle, and stopping at his ring. “It’s okay.” He lets out a sigh. “I always tell my mother and father it’s great to be home, though I don’t feel that much at home. More like a stranger in my own house. But—”

“What would it make me if I didn’t?” Minghao finishes his sentence. Mingyu smiles, just a bit, without any real joy. “I just feel so sorry for them.” 

  
“We owe them so much,” Mingyu keeps going and pulls Minghao closer, his legs over his and forehead pressing to the side of Minghao’s head. “And still.”

“We are here, doing this, talking like this.” Minghao snorts and sighs, loudly, dramatically. “What does that make us, Mingyu?”

A smile pulls at his lips and it grows into a grin. “Awful sons.” Minghao’s nose wrinkles a bit as he laughs and agrees.

“The _worst_.”

The final words, “ _and that’s alright”_ , get left behind. Someone enters the hallway, maybe a cleaning lady or a security guard or one of their teachers, so both boys shoot up like bullets and make a run for it, hearts beating all the way up inside their throats. The feeling of safety arrives a few blocks down, but they only agree on stopping to breathe once they make it to their house.

 

Ⱉ  


 

Mingyu doesn’t know much about Minghao’s life before they met, and Minghao doesn’t know much about Mingyu’s, but instead of it being a thing they don’t speak about it’s like a gift they have to unwrap. Layer by layer, a different pattern and color in every wrapping, tied together by a new ribbon.  
  
“You’re going to get caught about coming here,” Mingyu says, during a different night, after weeks of not daring to break into the dance studio. He speaks against the softness of Minghao’s forehead. Minghao doesn’t agree, lips nipping the sensitive skin under Mingyu’s chin that is just as sexual as a flick on the forehead. It stings and Mingyu pulls back, making a slight double chin that Minghao smirks at.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t know the rules.”

Every time Minghao breathes in his chest fills up and pushes against Mingyu’s. The pressure comes and goes, it’s like a lull or a cradle. “They know you know the rules.”

Rolling to his side on the floor, Minghao sighs softly through his nose and looks at the ceiling. The lights have gone out during the time they have stayed still. “Then I’ll do my pushups like a man.”

“And what if you get a babysitter?” Mingyu mimics him and lies on his back. The sunrise fills half of the room already.

“I’ll buy him dinner and behave.” Minghao stares at Mingyu’s cheek with these soft, expectant eyes that could be deemed unfair. “Would you share the punishment with me?”

Mingyu wants to say a lot of things, like how he could even take the punishment in Minghao’s place, break the rules to be a partner in crime, but Minghao knows it already. At least that’s what he likes to think. He kicks Minghao’s ankle and scoffs through a smile.

“Of course not.”

Minghao kicks him back, and his fingers find their way over to Mingyu’s hand. He intertwines their fingers gingerly, as if asking for a permission, and Mingyu squeezes Minghao’s palm momentarily as a reassurance.

They wander through the streets to get home, spring breeze still freezing but much more pleasant than the coldness of winter. Minghao has his other hand in Mingyu’s coat pocket, a gesture that could be romantic if it wasn’t out of necessity. His own pocket is too full of trash he hasn't thrown out, receipts and candy wrappers and even used tissues.

“Mingyu.”

Mingyu makes a sound to tell him he is listening, and Minghao goes on. “Thank you.”

“For what?” He is starting to feel tired and yawns. The April air hurts his teeth.

“For being born.” It comes out so sincere and light Mingyu nearly chokes on air and glares at Minghao, who in turn refuses to look at him. He stares at the road and his fingers fidget inside Mingyu’s pocket, and Mingyu pinches the skin of his palm.

“My birthday ended like four hours ago, it's late to pull that line jackass.”

“But I only thought of it now.” Minghao grins at his offended look.

“You’re very welcome,” Mingyu bows politely and allows Minghao to drag him along, down the street. He hurriedly falls into a squat by one of the ill-timed flowerbeds that should wither away and die soon, picking out a pale rose in colors of pink and pastel yellow.

“That’s theft.” Mingyu looks at him dryly as Minghao comes back up with the rose and offers it to him, holding it neatly between his fingers.

“We already broke one promise, let’s break the other one too.” Minghao checks the stem for thorns but sees none, then slips the rose on the front pocket of Mingyu’s coat. “Happy birthday.”

Mingyu wishes away the embarrassment and looks left, then right, but no one is out to see them. “You cheap shit, get me a real gift sometime,” he grumbles before they continue walking. “We keep breaking rules and promises,” Mingyu lists with his fingers, then hisses dramatically.

Minghao mimics him and ponders, shaking his head. “What does that make us? Truly.”

“Awful.” It’s a suggestion.

Minghao accepts it with a happy smile and squeezes Mingyu’s hand.

“The _worst_.”

 

 

Ⱉ


End file.
